Just because I have been writing since I was eight doesn’t mean all those “manuscripts” stuck under my bed are complete. I think maybe one is and it sucks. I haven’t read it in ages but I don’t have to read it to know it sucks. Why? Because I had to force myself to complete it. The word count is ridiculously low for its genre and the idea doesn’t flow. Hence, why it is under my bed with the little dust balls and old socks. 
       It took me until I was thirty- one years old to realize I was writing the wrong genre. YA had never been a genre I even considered. Until after participating in a “book club” one summer which included reading all four of the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants books by Ann Brashares. I loved them! Then I realized this series was considered YA fiction. Heck, YA had come a long way since Sweet Valley High. There was nothing cheesy about it. So, that following fall I began trying my hand at writing a YA novel. I finished it in two months. Maybe one day I will go back and rewrite, tweak, polish it enough to send to my publisher because my first attempt left much to be desired. However, it wasn’t long after that attempt that I got the idea for my current novel, Breathe. I was so excited about the concept of Breathe, I wrote eight to ten hours a day for a month. Not because I felt like I had to or it was my job but because I couldn’t think about anything else. The day I typed that last sentence and checked my word count it said 75,000 words. I remember whispering the words “wow”. I’d been so busy getting this story out of my head and onto the computer screen I hadn’t stopped to worry about word count. For the first time the story had driven me and nothing else. I’d found my genre.